Severely Deluded
by Mireille
Summary: One fine morning, Hermione realizes that someone has dosed her with Love Potion. How else could she possibly have fallen in love with Snape?
1. Scene 1

**Severely Deluded**

A/N: New year, new story. I hope you enjoy both. Also, just so you know, this is sort-of Snape/Hermione, in case that sort of thing squicks you, but there isn't any action to speak of – if it was a more traditional pairing, I'd have rated it PG. But you can judge for yourself.

**Scene 1**

One ordinary day at breakfast, Hermione had a terrible realization.

She was in love with Snape.

Maybe "in love" wasn't the proper phrase, Hermione immediately corrected herself. "Infatuated"? "Crushing on"?

I'm not helping my case, she thought, and set down her goblet of pumpkin juice, which for some reason she no longer fancied. Perhaps its color was a shade off today, the taste not quite right. Perhaps she was the hapless victim of a Love Potion. That thought made Hermione smile.

She produced her wand and conjured a small gleaming flask, complete with cork stopper.

"Showoff," Ron muttered into his eggs and bacon. Harry, on her other side, had his head on his Charms text and was snoring lightly.

"Honestly, Ron, you should know how to do that by now," Hermione said, neatly filling the flask with the contents of her goblet. "Or at least by the next test."

"I hope you're not planning on taking that to Potions," Ron said, watching Hermione knock in the cork. "Snape won't be too chuffed."

"No, I expect not," Hermione said, tucking it into her bag. Ron, well versed in spotting hopeless cases, recognized another and returned his attention to his eggs.

Hermione waited until the end of class to approach Snape. She shooed Ron and Harry out the door, then marched up to Snape's desk bearing her flask of pumpkin juice. Snape looked up at her approach and put his quill down, looking bad-tempered.

"I sincerely hope that is not your potion, Miss Granger."

"It's my pumpkin juice from breakfast," she said. "I suspect it has Love Potion in it, sir."

"Fallen madly in love with someone this morning, have you?" Snape said, a nasty glint in his eye. "You are aware that --"

"Love Potions are illegal at Hogwarts, I know," Hermione said. "But when has that ever stopped --"

"Your two cohorts are incapable of producing a working Love Potion, as is every other student in this school," Snape said. "Except perhaps yourself."  
"Thank you, sir."

"When you aren't wasting your time plotting with Potter and Weasley, that is."

"I never plot on class time, sir." Hermione kept her eyes lowered, knowing Snape would not believe her if she did not look him in the eye, but she was in no emotional state to defend her mind and its contents against him.

Snape snorted. "Let me have a look."

She handed him the flask. He opened it, smelled the contents, touched a drop of it to his tongue.

"Finish your pumpkin juice, Miss Granger," said Snape, shoving the flask back at her. "There's nothing wrong with it except the house-elves have started using last year's pumpkins."

Hermione accepted it without comment.

Snape said, "May I ask --"

"No," Hermione said immediately, blushing.

"Let me finish, Miss Granger," Snape said, folding his hands and leaning back. "Why did you suspect Love Potion?"

"Because – I can't possibly be in love with _him_," said Hermione. "It's completely illogical."

"Have you never, in all your reading, come across a French Muggle by the name of Pascal?"

"No, sir."

"Love has its own reason of which reason knows nothing," Snape said. "I suggest you learn how to tell the difference between magically induced love and the regular sort."

Hermione recognized her dismissal and walked away. Halfway across the classroom, the conjured flask disappeared, leaving Hermione with pumpkin juice all down her front.

"I'm astonished, Miss Granger," said Snape. "From the way Minerva always brags about you, I would have expected it to last until the next full moon."

"It lasted an hour and a half, sir," Hermione snapped, waving her wand to remove the stains.

"Not enough lateral motion," Snape said. "Come here and I'll do it right."

To Hermione's annoyance, he did.

"Thank you," she said, knowing it sounded sulky.

"There are several useful books in the library on Cleaning Charms, which you also seem to have missed," Snape said, with a reprise of the nasty glint.

"I'll be sure to look them up just as soon as I've finished your six-foot essay, sir," Hermione said, injecting as much venom as she dared into the last word. This time, she made it out of the classroom unstained.

Once out in the corridor, Hermione decided it would be best to stop by the bathroom and wash her hands before lunch so as to remove any residue of potion ingredients. Her heart was beating fast, no doubt as a result of having accidentally inhaled some of the powdered Diricawl dung, and her face, as far as she could tell in the cracked, grimy and mildewed mirror, was still an unflattering shade of red from hanging over her cauldron for close to an hour. Probably also responsible was the unusual warmth of the dungeons. Perhaps Snape had at last unbent enough to begin heating the dungeons, though no one else seemed to have noticed anything.

On the topic of Snape, Hermione was forced to admit that he had won their recent skirmish. However, she had no intention of letting him win the battle. She knew that her mind would not so far betray her as to be freely attracted to Snape, and she intended to pin the blame on a potion even, and especially, if it meant reading Pascal and cleaning up her Cleaning Charms.

A/N: I think it was Pascal, anyway. It could have been Descartes. Anyway, I apologize to whoever it was for the bad translation. And if you think it really was Descartes, let me know.


	2. Scene 2

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 2**

Charms had been canceled. Professor Flitwick was missing; Madam Pomfrey suspected a case of Vanishing Sickness.

Hermione darted off while Harry and Ron were still milling, with the rest of the Gryffindors, around the note on Flitwick's locked door, and went straight to the library. She collected every book the library owned on Love Potions and set herself to compiling an exhaustive list of their symptoms.

It's merely a matter of scientific observation, Hermione told herself. Match up two columns of facts and bingo, you have your diagnosis.

Insomnia.

Vertigo.

Trembling in the extremities.

Increased body temperature and heart rate.

Feelings of physical attraction (especially if irrational).

Preoccupation with the subject, to the detriment of normal activities.

Just then Hermione thought she heard the voice of the Potions Master and she dropped her quill, unaware of the ink dripping onto the desk. She peered over the railing and was rewarded with the sight of Snape's greasy head passing almost directly below her on the way to Madam Pince's desk. Hermione leaned over as far as she dared but still, unfortunately, could not see the gleaming titles of the six or seven books Snape had banged down on the desk. Nevertheless, she hung over the balcony, heedless of the twenty-foot drop, until Snape had gathered up his books, snarled something at Madam Pince, and made his customary theatrical exit. Hermione, with a sigh, returned to her desk and her list, and reread the last item.

What am I missing? she thought.

Then she realized that she was about to be late.

For class.

With Snape.

For once, Hermione could not remember, and did not care, whether running in the halls was expressly forbidden in _Hogwarts, a History_ (but suspected it was). Luckily, the sight of the Head Girl sprinting down the hall was sufficiently unusual that no one tried to stop her.

"Where have you been?" Ron hissed as she dropped into the chair next to him. "You're all red in the face."

"I ran," Hermione said, settling her hair back onto her shoulders.

Snape made his entrance sans books. He must have left them at his quarters, Hermione thought, and could not suppress a brief fantasy about the contents of the books.

"Instructions are on the board," Snape said, causing a rattle of cauldrons and ingredients. "Carry on."

It was time for phase two. Hermione flattened out a fresh roll of parchment, readied her quill and then turned her attention to her potion. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Neville was also down with Vanishing Sickness and Hermione was the odd one out.

She started a fire under her cauldron and poured in half a bottle of fig juice. Snape was getting closer, pausing occasionally to snipe at other students' potions. Hermione's hands were shaking. She reached for her quill.

"Do you think," Snape said, his hands flat on the table, "you can handle the potion without Mr. Longbottom to help you?"

"Of course I can," Hermione snapped.

"That remains to be seen. Why, Miss Granger, do you think you need a piece of parchment to make it?"

"I'm taking notes, sir."

Snape sneered at the blank parchment.

"I was about to. For Neville, sir."

Snape leaned in and said, "Mr. Longbottom is a lost cause. Surely you can find something more potentially rewarding on which to waste your time."

"Neville isn't that bad, he passed his O.W.L.'s --"

Hermione knew she was doing nothing to improve Snape's opinion of Neville, thanks to the damn potion, which was giving off waves of heat as well as impairing all her higher brain functions.

"Perhaps I was wrong," Snape said, only a little louder than her boiling fig juice. "Perhaps Mr. Longbottom is the object of your misguided affections."

She should have just finished the miserable pumpkin juice. "I am not in love with Neville Longbottom," Hermione hissed.

Snape straightened up. "Then you have better taste than I ever expected."

"And you have no business making unfounded assumptions about my --"

"You didn't have to ask my advice," Snape said, looking triumphant. "You could have gone digging in those musty old books you seem to find so appealing, instead."

I suppose you find them useless, she was about to say when Snape turned to go and added, "But this way might be more entertaining."

The moment he was well away Hermione began scribbling.

Nearly passed out – very unusual for the dungeons to be so warm.

Trembling in the extremities.

Pulse approximately double resting rate.

Normal self-possession severely reduced – check properties of boiling fig juice.

"What was that all about?" Ron said.

"What?"

"What d'you think? Snape."

"Wanted to know what the parchment was for."

"Well, what is it for?"

Hermione stopped writing and glared at Ron.

"Sorry," he said. "By the way, are you planning on making the potion anytime soon?"

"Oh _no_." The scene with Snape had completely distracted her from the potion. At least it seemed to have had a similar effect on Snape.

Cannot concentrate on potion.

Mind wanders in alarming directions when otherwise unoccupied – best not discussed.

Even Ron noticed something was going on.

Temperature of dungeons still far above normal.

Lowest grade in Potions yet – will fail if this keeps up.

"Give my regards to Mr. Longbottom," Snape said as Hermione stuffed her parchment into her bag. "Perhaps he'll turn up before next lesson, and you can concentrate on your classwork instead of your raging hormones."

"You mean my Love Potion," Hermione said, glaring at him.

"Think what you like," Snape said. "But let me tell you this: if your symptoms persist after two weeks, either you are in love or you were dosed by a Master of Potions."

"You wouldn't have."

"No," Snape said. "But I might have, if I'd known the results would be this amusing."

Unable to think of anything sufficiently horrible to say, Hermione snapped her bag shut and stalked out of the room. New possibilities of humiliation during the next two weeks were opening up before her eyes.

At least she had been able to record, in a scientific and detached manner, her symptoms, all of which indicated the presence of a Love Potion. Now all that remained was to brew the antidote and she would be free of her chemical bondage forever.


	3. Scene 3

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 3**

Hermione woke up in the hospital wing.

Oh my God, she thought. Snape is sitting next to me and I'm wearing pajamas.

The antidote didn't work, then.

"Miss Granger." Snape seemed to be trying not to move his lips. "You nearly killed yourself with an antidote you plainly did not need."

Hermione closed her eyes.

"I have, however, managed to convince the others that you were merely attempting suicide."

Hermione nearly fell out of bed. "You what?"

"Quiet, girl. You wanted to have to explain your situation? I thought not."

"But what am I supposed to tell them?"

"You have an inventive mind," Snape said. "You'll think of something."

A rustle of robes announced the entry of Pomfrey, McGonagall and Dumbledore, all of whom looked as thought they had just sent someone to the dementors.

"Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "I see you're still alive."

"Don't be so insensitive, Albus," hissed McGonagall. "Miss Granger, if there's anything you need to talk about – anything at all --"

Yes, Professor, I'm in love with Professor Snape. What would you recommend? Hermione turned her giggle into a choked sob and hid her face in the covers. Snape surreptitiously rolled his eyes.

"Everyone out," Madam Pomfrey said. "That means you, too." She must have meant Snape, because Hermione heard a rustle of robes next to her ear, then silence.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I just – couldn't take the pressure anymore. You know, being Head Girl, and N.E.W.T.'s are only five months away, and I'm practically failing Potions --" To Hermione's horror, the tears were real.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a hug. "There, girl, it's bad but it's not worth dying over, and as for your Potions grade, you can talk to Professor Snape about it when he comes in, I'm sure you'll be able to work something out --"

"Professor Snape's coming in?"

"Yes, you see there has to be someone here at all times to watch you, and with so many down with Vanishing Sickness I can't stay here all day."

"Professor Snape's on suicide watch?"

"He's actually quite good at it."

I bet, Hermione thought. I just hope it's night when he comes back because I can tell my hair is practically a beast in its own right.

Actually, it was mid-afternoon when Snape returned, and Hermione was already bored enough to consider (or reconsider) suicide.

"Come to make sure I don't kill myself?" Hermione said as Snape took the chair next to the bed with ill grace and began grading what looked like sixth-year essays on the Wolfsbane Potion.

"You know and I know this is a waste of time, so do try not to make it any worse." All the time Snape was talking his quill kept moving.

"You could have told them the truth, you know."

"I was trying to make things easier for you, girl," Snape snapped. "I'll know not to in future."

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said. "I do appreciate it."

"You had already brought enough trouble on yourself by consulting me, I thought."

"I'll know not to in future."

That got a reluctant smile from Snape. More accurately an angling of the mouth, but it still did inventive things to her nervous system.

"And you could stop twitting me about it," Hermione said. "If you're so keen on making things easier."

"It is, regrettably, too entertaining to give up," Snape said, almost looking at her. "The rumors are true – I do enjoy tormenting my students."

"I've never had any reason to think they were false."

There went the mouth again. Perhaps he'd never learned how to smile. Hermione fought an urge to bury her face in the pillow.

"I must admit I'm terribly anxious to find out who you don't want to admit you love," Snape said in a voice that indicated an unknown degree of sarcasm.

"I'll never tell."

"Pity," Snape said.

"And it'd be suspiciously out of character for you to fix me a cup of tea, so don't even think about it."

"I don't want to know that badly," Snape said. His quill continued scratching. Hermione wondered how much red ink he used in a week. Judging by the looks of Harry's and Ron's returned essays, quite a lot.

"Draco Malfoy."

"What?"

"Is it Malfoy?"

"No, of course not." Hermione avoided his eyes; knowing they were there was bad enough, and with a bit of luck he would think she was lying.

"Why not? Half the female population of Hogwarts seems to find him attractive."

"He thinks I'm a lower life form."

"Forbidden love," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "It would have to be. Why else would you be in denial?"

Snape was too damn perceptive for her own good. "I'm not in denial."

"I suppose we can rule out Weasley, then," Snape said.

Hermione remained silent, vowing not to argue with Snape about Ron.

"Because I'm sure," Snape said, "that if you wanted him, you could have him."

"Well, I don't," Hermione said, glaring at Snape, knowing that if he said another word on the subject she would lose what little temper remained to her and prove her mental instability to everyone's satisfaction, when really all that was wrong with her was Severus Snape.

And Hermione could tell, by the insolent inquiring expression on Snape's face, that he thought she was lying and moreover doing a bad job of it; she was about to disabuse him when Madam Pomfrey bustled in with a tray of steaming goblets.

"Time for your medicine, dear."

Hermione swallowed the repulsive stuff suspecting Snape had done the brewing and was now watching her intently. She badly wanted to accuse him of having tried to poison her, but having tried and failed herself rather undermined the point.

"Honestly, Severus," said Pomfrey, "if you're really that busy, I can keep an eye on her."

"Thank you." Snape rose and gathered up his papers. "I expect I'll be seeing you," he said to Hermione.

She wasn't looking forward to it either.


	4. Scene 4

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 4**

Hermione was out of the hospital wing, and no one seemed to want to leave her alone, afraid probably that she would run for the razor the moment she had some time to herself. Ron and Harry flanked her in class, at meals, in the hall and in the common room. As soon as Hermione reached the girls' staircase Lavender and Parvati took over, often staying in Hermione's room asking questions about the Transfiguration homework so late that Hermione had to fake yawns and look pointedly at the clock to get them to leave. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and sleep were the only excuses Hermione had to ditch her self-appointed suicide watch, and finally she had had enough.

"It's been two weeks," Hermione said. "If I wanted to kill myself, I could have done it a dozen times by now."

"Does that mean you don't want to kill yourself anymore?" said Ron.

Trust Ron to be perceptive just when you were counting on his usual obtuseness. "All I needed was some time off and a few Cheering Charms," Hermione said. "Really, I'm much better."

Neither of them looked entirely convinced.

"Keeping me out of the library isn't likely to improve my mood," Hermione hinted.

"Good point."

"Off you go."

Feeling smug, Hermione left for the library to get started on the next phase of her plan.

The disastrous episode of the antidote had been enough to convince Hermione that her attraction to Snape was not the result of a Love Potion, but her hormones' betrayal of all that was logical and comprehensible – a far more insidious situation than she'd first realized. And since she had only limited personal experience with dangerous attractions, she was about to correct that deficit.

Hermione ducked into the Leisure Reading section, feeling vaguely criminal. She wondered if this was how Harry and Ron felt when they came into the library. Small wonder they treated the place like it was the Bloody Baron's bathroom. Hermione stooped down and began looking at titles.

_Lady Ellifritz's Lover. The Reluctant Bride. Indecent Proposals. The Imperius Kiss. The Reluctant Groom._ They all sounded so awful that Hermione couldn't decide. Although _The Imperius Kiss_ did sound promising.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione emerged with five books tucked under her arm and headed for Madam Pince's desk. This, she knew, was the part most likely to cause her crippling embarrassment.

"Ah, Miss Granger." Madam Pince smiled at her as she reached for the topmost book. "A bit of extracurricular reading, I see."

Hermione made a small noise and went very red. Maybe, she thought, if someone had bothered to teach me about this, I wouldn't be in such a colossal mess.

Madam Pince pushed the books back across the desk. "Enjoy."

I could get hooked on these, Hermione thought. Halfway through _The Imperius Kiss_, all she wanted in the world was to find out whether Rosalie would choose Chandler or Brentley. Hermione snuggled deeper into her covers and selected another Chocolate Frog.

"Hermione, are you in there?"

Hermione jumped, freeing her Chocolate Frogs, which proceeded to hop into every corner of the room.

"Hermione?"

"Just a minute, my Chocolate Frogs are escaping."

"We can help you out with that."

Reluctantly, Hermione let Lavender and Parvati into the room.

"Just put them back in the tin," Hermione said, sending a Freezing Charm at one that was making a break for the door.

Lavender and Parvati, however clueless they were at transfiguring chairs into chickens, were well versed in the capture of renegade Chocolate Frogs, and within ten minutes all of them were back in the tin (with the exception of the one Parvati was secretly nibbling).

"Thanks, girls," Hermione said, replacing the tin on her desk. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Harry and Ron sent us," Parvati said.

"To see why you didn't come to dinner," Lavender said.

Shit, thought Hermione. It was quarter to six and dinner had not once occurred to her. Though she had eaten rather a lot of Chocolate Frogs.

"I was reading."

"This?" Lavender reached for the book half hidden under Hermione's covers. Unfortunately the title was covered up, which under Hermione's enchantment read _Exhaustive History of Sixteenth Century Goblin Wars. _Also unfortunately the enchantment, which was already wearing thin, dissolved entirely and Lavender was left holding _The Imperius Kiss._

"Hermione, why on earth are you reading this?"

"I, er, needed a bit of a break."

"Normally, of course, we'd be thrilled that you're learning to appreciate great literature," said Parvati, trying to clean the chocolate off her teeth with her tongue.

"But you told us last year you thought romance novels were worth less than the paper they're printed on," Lavender said, shaking the book at her. "Now, I know people change. But not without a reason."

"We're worried about you," Parvati said.

"And by 'we,' we mean half of Gryffindor," Lavender said. "We can't have our Head Girl going crackers, because that would leave Terry Boot in charge."

"And you know what we think of Terry Boot."

"Which is why you're going to have a chat with McGonagall right now," Lavender said, heading purposefully for the fireplace.

"Oh no you don't," Hermione said, but Lavender had already got hold of the Floo Powder and tossed a pinch into the fireplace.

"Professor McGonagall's office…. Professor, Hermione needs to have a talk with you right now."

And both girls shoved Hermione into the fire.

"What can I do for you, Miss Granger?" said McGonagall. "Do sit down."

Hermione did. "Lavender and Parvati want me to have a talk with you because I skipped dinner to read a romance novel."

"Which one, girls?" McGonagall said to the fireplace.

"_The Imperius Kiss,_" they chorused.

"I must say I don't think there's anything intrinsically wrong in reading a good romance," said McGonagall. "Bad romances, on the other hand…. Miss Granger, your behavior in the last few weeks has been increasingly erratic. I'm afraid I must ask you, as your Head of House, if anything is going on which might interfere with your duties as Head Girl."

"Well, I'll tell you," said Hermione. "But only if Lavender and Parvati aren't listening."

Twin frustrated sighs came from the fireplace. "Oh well, we'll worm it out of you sooner or later," said Parvati, then broke the connection.

"I'm listening, Miss Granger."

"Okay." Hermione sighed. "First of all, I did not try to kill myself. I took an antidote to a Love Potion, which I thought I'd drunk but I actually didn't."

McGonagall frowned. "Then what made Severus think you'd attempted suicide?"

"He didn't. He said that so I wouldn't have to explain about the Love Potion. I had gone to him and asked him if I'd drunk a Love Potion."

McGonagall's lips twitched. "Did he think you had?"

"No, but I didn't believe him," Hermione said. "At least, not until I nearly poisoned myself."

"May I ask --"

"No," Hermione said quickly.

"If this will interfere with your duties as Head Girl?"

"I hope not."

McGonagall folded her hands. "Miss Granger, I'd like for you to stop by my office every Friday during my office hours, just to make sure everything is going smoothly."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I, er, don't know if I've ever told you this, but I think very highly of you and I don't want anything to happen to the brightest student in the school."

Hermione tried not to smile too much. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Well, you're free to go." McGonagall indicated the fireplace.

"I think I'd rather walk."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Lavender and Parvati are probably still in my room."

"I see." McGonagall almost smiled. "Have a good evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione was starting to feel as though she might be hungry sometime soon, so she stopped by the kitchen for a snack. She noticed that she got on much better with house-elves since she'd stopped trying to free them.

Back in the common room, Harry and Ron were sharing a couch in front of the fireplace. At her entrance they both glanced up, worried looks predictably changing to relief mixed with annoyance.

Best to get this over with, Hermione thought, and made her way over to their couch. "Hello, boys."

"What's this I hear about romance novels?" said Ron.

"I see you've been talking to my former roommates," Hermione said dryly, sitting in a nearby armchair.

"Hermione, there's something you're not telling us," Ron said.

"And, as with everything I don't tell you, there's a very good reason why."

"Which is what?"

"I don't want you to know."

"Hermione, this is ridiculous," Ron said. "We're not going to let you do this to yourself."

"Since when is reading a romance novel on a par with going to the Hog's Head and getting blind drunk on imported liquor?"

"This isn't just about your books. You tried to kill yourself."

"I told you, Ronald, I'm perfectly fine now."

"How can you possibly get over something so awful just like that?"

"We're not trying to push you away," Harry said, elbowing Ron in the ribs. "We're just worried about you."

"Doesn't anyone have anything better to do than keep a tally of everything stupid I do?" Hermione snapped, but relented at the looks on the boys' faces. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

"Damn straight," said Ron.

"I just wish you could trust my judgment, and believe me when I say you really don't want to know," Hermione said. "You'd think you'd have noticed by now that whenever you don't listen to me, I tend to be right."

"You've got a point," Harry conceded.

Hermione gave them each a quick hug. "Thanks. And if there's anything you can do, I'll _tell_ you."

Hermione went up to her room, which was mercifully free of Lavender and Parvati. _The Imperius Kiss,_ however, was missing.

At least she'd thought to hide the others at the bottom of her sock drawer.


	5. Scene 5

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 5**

Hermione realized she'd been reading too many romance novels when she had a vivid and disturbing dream about Snape, which kept barging into her head all day and distracting her from such important tasks as Transfiguration and dinner. It was terribly difficult to act as though you were enjoying your mashed potatoes and steak with a clear conscience while feeling that Snape was staring at you, perfectly aware that you had kissed him last night in your dreams and waiting to use that knowledge to humiliate you. Consequently, Hermione had tried all day to forget that idiotic, perverse, impossible dream, which she actually had not enjoyed. Much.

She was still thinking about it that evening, sitting at a small round table with Harry and Ron, ostensibly doing her Arithmancy homework while the boys argued about something. Suddenly Hermione heard Ron say her name.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Harry says he hasn't had any dreams," Ron said, shooting him a nasty look, "and I need someone else's to interpret for Divination, so have you had any I can use?"

Dream-Snape recalled himself to her mind with all his original force and Hermione blushed. No need for any underqualified fruit bat to tell her what that dream meant.

"Hermione!" Ron looked scandalized.

"Don't make a scene," Hermione said, looking pointedly at the surrounding tables.

"You'd think Trelawney would have more sense than to ask a roomful of seventeen-year-olds what they dreamed about last night," Harry remarked.

"Are you in love with someone?" Ron said accusingly.

"Of course she is, don't be dim," Harry said, at almost the same moment as Hermione said, "Of course not."

Both boys frowned at Hermione.

"Well, if you must know," she said loftily, "I don't like him at all. He's mean, he has a nasty temper, and he thinks I'm a complete fool. It's just that I --"

"Dream about him," Harry supplied, his mouth twitching.

"Exactly. I don't care what he thinks of me, and I'm certainly not in love with him."

For most of the conversation, Ron had looked as though he was choking on Trevor; now he made a small noise and rushed from the common room.

"Don't mind him," Harry said, hitching his chair a little closer to Hermione's. "But seriously, I need to ask you --"

"No," Hermione said. "I really can't tell you, Harry, I'm sorry."

"Not that," Harry said, smiling a little. "I just wanted to be sure that – that he wasn't going to hurt you."

"Oh no, of course not," Hermione said brightly. At Harry's disbelieving look, she added, "I'm not saying that he isn't mean to me, or to you two, but I know that's just the way he is and I don't take it personally. As I said, I don't care what he thinks of me, and I'm well aware that a real relationship between us is impossible, given the – er…"

"Obstacles?"

"Yes, that's it, and I don't expect anything of the sort. So I don't think he's going to break my heart, if that's what you're asking."

"Okay," Harry said, looking unconvinced. "It's just – well, is it a Slytherin?"

"Yes," Hermione said, blushing.

"How are you planning on dealing with Ron?" said Harry. "You saw him just now, and all he found out is that you have hormones, like every other girl in this place."

"Blackmail, of course," Hermione said. "I have pictures of him at the Burrow sleeping with his old teddy bear. If he wigs out on me, I'll offer to post them on the notice board."

"That should work," Harry said. "And Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"If you need to talk to someone, you won't have to blackmail me to keep me from throwing a fit. Even if it is Draco Malfoy."

If Harry expected a reaction, he was disappointed. Hermione just blinked and smiled. "Thanks, Harry, that's surprisingly mature of you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're so sweet."

"Well, I think I've had enough of this for one evening." Hermione gathered her things and stood up. "Night, Harry."

"Sweet dreams," Harry said, and only yelped a little when she smacked him on the shoulder with her Arithmancy text.

A/N: I realize that Harry and Ron will probably have failed their Divination O.W.L.'s and therefore not be taking that class their seventh year, but I needed Hermione to have this conversation with the boys, rather than Lavender and Parvati, for obvious reasons.


	6. Scene 6

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 6**

Lavender and Parvati had taken over Hermione's room for the evening. They were lounging on the floor reading _Witch Weekly_ and eating Chocolate Frogs while Hermione looked over their Transfiguration essays. Hermione had planned to eat the Frogs herself, but she had to admit that this was at least as cozy a way to spend the evening, with the rain swishing on the window and the girls' chatter in the background. It reminded her of some of the better times they'd had as roommates, when no one had been inexpertly transfiguring her clothes or using her toothbrush or losing her homework or spilling strawberry lip gloss all over her pillow.

On second thought, she didn't miss those days at all.

Just then Hermione though she heard one of the girls say Snape's name, and her head came up automatically.

"Isn't he hot?" Lavender said.

"Well, not in the classical sense," Hermione said, mostly to herself.

Both girls' heads swiveled around as one.

"What did you just say?"

"Um… I think I misheard you," Hermione said, sensing an incipient blush. "What did you say?"

"I said wasn't Snape a snarky bastard in class today."

"And _I_ said when is he not."

Oh dear God, it was worse than she'd thought.

"The classical sense of what?"

"Never mind," Hermione said. "I was thinking of something completely different." Please, she thought, don't let them press the issue.

"That reminds me," said Lavender. "Why did Snape keep you after class today?"

"Oh, that," said Hermione. It seemed Lavender and Parvati intended to cover every dangerous Snape-related topic in one mortifying conversation. "He wanted to know why I'd stopped volunteering in class."

"Well, why did you?" Parvati said.

"I said I'd finally decided to stop being an insufferable know-it-all."

"And?"

"He said he was thrilled."

"He is such a snarky bastard," said Lavender.

"Well of course he is," Parvati said. "Judging by the hair and the teeth, he probably hasn't gotten any in ages."

"Probably never," Lavender added, which sent them both into giggles.

Hermione ducked behind Parvati's essay in an effort to make it look as though she were reading it. What right did they have to make unfounded assumptions about Snape's love life? He admittedly didn't have Lockhart looks, which was being generous, but (there was no use denying it) he could still melt cauldrons. Of course you couldn't expect someone with the mentality of a Puffskein to pick up on such things, thought Hermione.

"Any idea why Snape's got it in for you this year?"

"Hmm?" Hermione said, looking over the essay. "Oh, probably because I'm not in Slytherin. I don't think there's been a Head Girl from Slytherin in a good fourteen years."

"No wonder," Lavender said, "if they're all like Bulstrode and Parkinson." More giggles.

Hermione supposed that to the uninformed observer it did look as though Snape had it in for her. In past years he'd never had much to say about her potions, flawless as they generally were, but of late he'd gotten into the habit of stopping by her cauldron and harassing her about her mystery man. Hermione suspected that he wanted something to hold over her head, besides which he took a malicious delight in needling her and getting back waspish replies. If he didn't enjoy it, Gryffindor would by now have no points left to take. Although why he should care about her love life was an even deeper mystery.

"Don't you two have anyone else to talk about besides Snape?" Hermione said when she couldn't take it any longer.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," said Lavender. "Don't tell me you never sit in class and wonder why he's such a bastard."

"I'm generally too busy trying to brew a potion to speculate about Snape's personal life," Hermione snapped.

"Coming from you, I almost believe that."

"Here's your essays, girls," Hermione said. "My notes are in blue."

"Thanks so much."

"We'll buy you some more Frogs to make up for it."

"Nighty-night."

Hermione closed the door after them and promptly slumped against it, far from caring what damage she'd just inflicted on the papers tacked to it.

Did they know?

Probably, unless they thought she'd been talking about architecture. And why else would they spend most of an evening gossiping about Snape (even if he was a frequent topic of conversation around the common room fire).

Would they tell?

Harder to say. Hermione had kept innumerable secrets for them in the past, sometimes from each other, so they owed her this secret. But their memories were notoriously patchy, and Hogwarts hadn't heard gossip like this for at least six weeks.

Maybe, if she was lucky, they would decide to torment her in Potions and extort tutoring and candy from her, and leave it at that. Not that that scene appealed to her either.

And there was nothing to do but wait until the next Potions class to see what would happen.

A/N: I also realize that Lavender and Parvati will probably not be taking Potions their seventh year, but I needed Hermione to have this conversation with Lavender and Parvati, rather than the boys, for obvious reasons.


	7. Scene 7

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 7**

Hermione had never dreaded a class more, including flying lessons her first year. Today was the day they learned about Love Potions, and the possibilities for humiliation were nearly endless.

Hermione clutched her books tighter and shifted her weight. She and everyone else were standing in the hall because the door was locked and Snape was late – highly unusual in any case, but on the day of the Love Potion lesson Hermione could imagine plenty of horrible reasons why.

Further down the hall Lavender was chatting with someone. Hermione could hear her distinctive laugh at intervals but, worryingly, not what was so amusing. Hermione was about to sneak down the hall into hearing range when Snape appeared, carrying a box under his arm. After unlocking the door, Snape gave Hermione a calculating look that made her go cold all over, then strode into the dungeon. She followed, making sure to choose a table as far from Snape as possible. Whatever he had in that box, it would not be improved by proximity.

When everyone was seated, Snape began class. "Since, as most of you know, Love Potions are illegal at Hogwarts, we will not be able to brew them," he said. "However, it is still important for you to recognize Love Potions and their effects."

He didn't look at Hermione, but he didn't have to; she could feel a blush coming on already. But to her amazement, Snape spent the next half-hour lecturing on the critical ingredients of the Love Potion, including the Ashwinder egg (he had a frozen one in the box). Then, just as Hermione was beginning to relax, Snape attacked.

"All this is, of course, useless if you cannot tell when you have been dosed with Love Potion." Snape advanced toward the back of the room. "Miss Granger, do you think you can tell us the symptoms that result from a Love Potion?"

That, at least, she knew. "Feelings of physical attraction, especially if irrational." Oh God. She tried not to look at him. "Insomnia, vertigo, trembling, increased temperature and heart rate." She was a textbook case, of course.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," said Snape. "Can you tell us the physical characteristics of a Love Potion?"

"Translucent pink color, tastes like sugar."

"Very good. And how can you tell the difference between voluntary love and the results of a Love Potion?"

"That wasn't in the reading, sir."

"I know," Snape said. "But I thought you might have picked it up somewhere. It is important, don't you agree?"

"Critical," Hermione said, attempting to stare him down. Of course her face at this point was a rare shade of pink, and she could hear quiet sniggering coming from the other side of the room, but at last Snape looked away as he turned back to the front of the room.

"Under the influence of Love Potions, as well as other magic that interferes with free will, the subject will experience occasional flashes of his or her true feelings."

"Like the Imperius Curse," Malfoy said.

"Precisely."

Hermione wrote that down carefully, adding small squiggles and an exclamation point for emphasis. If only she'd known that three months ago.

"Miss Granger, perhaps you could also tell us what ingredients are in the antidote to Love Potion?"

Hermione gaped, her quill dangling from her fingers. It hadn't been that long ago; why couldn't she remember?

"That wasn't in the reading either, sir."

"I don't care," he hissed.

"I don't know, sir," she said under her breath.

"Tell the class, Miss Granger."

"I said I don't know."

"Appalling," Snape said, stalking down the aisle. "Surely you can at least tell us what happens when the antidote is taken without the potion."

"It induces coma."

"Thank you for enlightening us," Snape said, giving her a look of undiluted hate before returning to the front of the room. He lectured on the properties of the antidote for the rest of the period while Hermione stared down at her half-filled parchment, frantically blinking back tears.

She hadn't cried when he made that unforgivable crack about her teeth, and in comparison this scene was like a pat on the back. So why was she about to betray herself by crying now?

Because I didn't used to care what he thought of me, she realized. Because I didn't used to want him to – not _like_ me. Maybe not hate me.

Apparently, she had been deluding herself.

Hermione left the dungeon as soon as the bell rang, not speaking to anyone including Harry and Ron, who both looked confused. She went directly to the bathroom and cried until her throat ached, thinking vaguely of the last time she'd hidden herself in the bathroom for a similar purpose.

Then, she hadn't wanted to admit that she cared what Ron Weasley thought of her. Now, it wasn't much easier to admit that she cared what Snape thought of her.

It was one thing, and quite bad enough, to admit that her hormones were treacherously attracted to him and try not to show it. But approval (after romance) was the least likely thing she could expect to have of him.

Hermione recognized finally that she had let things get out of hand.

It was all very well to be as sarcastic as she dared and receive a half-smile in return. It was all very well to want the highest Potions grade he'd given out in ten years. It was all very well to be attracted to him in the abstract. But now it was apparent that at some point, Hermione had also unintentionally granted him the power to make her miserable. Therefore, she needed to get him out of her head in order to survive the twice-weekly hell of Potions class.

There was only one sure way to do that. And it was going to be expensive.


	8. Scene 8

**Chemical Dreams**

**Scene 8**

The Pensieve had cost Hermione a ridiculous amount of money. She would have to come up with a good excuse before she saw her parents next, and cut down on Chocolate Frogs and novelty ink in the meantime.

But for the life of her, she couldn't remember why she'd needed it so badly. The relevant memories were inside, of course. But since it was terrible enough for her to remove it from her memory, she wasn't about to refresh it.

Hermione stared into her pumpkin juice. She had a faint suspicion that it was entangled somehow in the mystery, but all she knew was that for some reason it tasted exceptionally good that morning.

Ron thumped into the chair beside her. "What've we got today, Hermione?"

"You should know by now, Ron," she said. "It's only March."

"I don't need to know. I can just ask you."

"Charms and Arithmancy in the morning. Nothing in the afternoon, since it's Friday."

"Magical Creatures for us," Ron said, nudging Harry, who had his head on his Charms text and was snoring lightly. Hermione frowned. Something about this day was niggling at her neurons, but she couldn't think what. She also knew she didn't want to look at the High Table, just not why. This Pensieve business was terribly disorienting.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a Friday afternoon off (meaning it had been a long time), so she decided to relax with a bit of light reading. At the bottom of her sock drawer were several romance novels, which Lavender and Parvati must have left there, but Hermione eventually found her copy of _Exhaustive History of Sixteenth Century Goblin Wars_ and settled down with the last of her Chocolate Frogs.

A few hours later, McGonagall's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Miss Granger, are you there?"

Hermione went over to the fireplace. "What is it, Professor?"

"You didn't come by my office this afternoon, so I just wanted to make sure everything was all right."

Oh hell. "I'm sorry, Professor, I completely forgot. I thought I had the afternoon free, and it's been so long since I've had any time to myself…"

"By all means, take some time off," McGonagall said. "Everything's going well, then?"

"Splendidly," Hermione said, making sure not to stop smiling until McGonagall broke the connection.

How could she have possibly forgotten about the meeting with McGonagall? Especially, she now noticed, since there was a bright yellow note on her desk that read, "Check w/ McG Fri. PM office hrs." Hermione scanned the surface of her desk to make sure she wasn't about to forget any other critical meetings, and saw to her relief that her only other obligation was to patrol the corridors with Ernie Macmillan from nine to midnight – annoying, but not surprising.

Hermione returned to her book, deeply grateful that she had the entire weekend to rest her overtaxed memory.

Monday, unfortunately, meant Potions and Hermione had an awful feeling that she didn't want to go, for reasons other than the usual. It was disconcerting to continue receiving cues from neurons that no longer existed, and it made Hermione jittery. But class went smoothly enough, at least until the end.

"I'll be collecting your essays as you leave," Snape said, taking up his post at the door.

Hermione had a sudden, ecliptic moment of horror. She had forgotten her essay. And it wasn't lying on her bed or on her desk: she had simply forgotten to write it. She dug through her bag anyway, wondering frantically why such awful things kept happening to her.

"Did you forget your essay, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up to find Snape standing next to her and caught her breath. She knew she didn't want him there, the more so because his voice lacked its usual bite. In fact he'd sounded nearly concerned.

Oh dear God.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"A Summoning Charm --"

"No, I forgot to write it."

The expected shower of abuse did not come. Instead, looking almost repentant, Snape said, "Would this have anything to do with what happened during the last class?"

Hermione stared at him, speechless. For all she knew, it did, because she couldn't remember what happened during the last class. And it must have been traumatizing for her to want it out of her head and for Snape to look so remorseful about it.

"Because --" (Snape's voice dropped measurably) – "I owe you an apology. My behavior was out of line, and it obviously hurt you."

"Don't mention it," Hermione said brightly, cutting off whatever Snape had been about to add. "I've already forgotten about it," she said, as sincerely as she could. "And I'll have the essay for you as soon as possible."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and left the dungeon, grateful that she'd been able to head off Snape's apology. Of course, she'd probably just thrown away her only opportunity to hear the words "I'm sorry" cross Severus Snape's lips, but better that than to let him know any more than he already did. And she knew she didn't want Snape to talk to her like a human being, because it had something to do with the black hole in her head and whatever was so terrifying that she couldn't stand to keep it there.

Of course, the short-term memory loss was doing her no favors either. Hermione paused in the middle of the corridor to write a note to remind herself about Snape's essay. Naturally, once she'd gotten out parchment and quill, she couldn't remember how long the essay had to be or, in fact, what she was supposed to be writing about.

And there was no way she was going to go back and ask Snape.

Harry and Ron were out of the question as well. They had just about stopped thinking she was crazy and she wanted to keep it that way.

She could, on the other hand, ask Neville. Forgetfulness was something he understood. And she'd bailed him out enough times over the years that if she asked him to keep quiet, he would.

Now all she had to do was remember to ask him.


	9. Scene 9

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 9**

Hermione finished her Potions essay that same evening. It had been easy, once she'd found out from Neville what it was supposed to be about.

But she didn't have Potions again until Wednesday, and Snape, it seemed, couldn't wait that long.

Miss Granger – please stop by my office with your essay after class today. S. Snape.

He's probably expecting me not to have it done, Hermione thought as she folded and pocketed the note. Is he in for a shock.

But Snape seemed not to be the least bit surprised when she presented him with her essay, merely adding it to the pyramid of scrolls on one side of his desk.

"Sir, how did you know I'd have my essay finished already?" Hermione said.

"I didn't," Snape said, folding his hands. "But if any student in this school could write an essay in one evening, it would be you."

Hermione didn't know what to make of that, so she kept quiet.

"And since you didn't let me finish earlier," Snape said, "I would like to apologize again for treating you so abominably. You did nothing to deserve it."

"That's quite all right," Hermione said, looking down at her hands and feeling unaccountably nervous.

"Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

Hermione's head jerked up. There seemed no point in lying, since he seemed to know better than she did what was going on. "No, sir."

Snape leaned back in his chair looking speculative. "I'd thought you were tougher than that," he said. "Was it really so traumatic?"

"Apparently," Hermione said.

"Did you use a Memory Charm?"

"I don't remember using one," she said. Which was true.

"No, you wouldn't," Snape said. "Very well, we're going to the hospital wing."

"What for?"

"Poppy is exceptionally good at reversing Memory Charms."

Fifteen minutes later Hermione was seated on a bed with Madam Pomfrey hovering over her and Snape lurking in the background.

"There's no evidence of a Memory Charm," Pomfrey said. "But good gracious, girl, there's quite a chunk of your brain missing."

"I think I understand," said Snape.

Hermione walked back to her room thoroughly confused. If Snape knew what was going on, why had he let her go? It was disconcerting to say the least that Snape had a better idea of what was going on in her head than she did. Perhaps, she thought vaguely, if I ask politely he'll explain what's happening to me.

But, as it turned out, she didn't even have to ask. The next evening, she was at her desk working on Transfiguration homework when there was a pop in the fireplace, behind her, and Snape's voice said, "Miss Granger?"

Hermione nearly knocked her ink out the window. She caught it and replaced it on her desk, then spun around. "Yes, Professor?"

"I have here --" he waved a parchment at her, then snatched it away when it began to scorch – "an authorization to search your room for an illegal Pensieve."

"But Pensieves aren't illegal."

"I think you'll find that at Hogwarts memory aids are illegal, including Pensieves."

Hermione looked at Snape with new respect; he had clearly read _Hogwarts, a History_ down to the footnotes.

"May I come through?" Snape said. "I'd like to get this over with."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him no, but he continued.

"I'm going to anyway, but I thought you'd like to have at least a semblance of control over the situation."

"Yes, you can come through," Hermione said, cursing to herself.

Snape accordingly came through. Wearing his habitual black, he looked about as suited to Hermione's lemon-yellow room as Hagrid to the Yule Ball. Hermione would have been tempted to laugh if some unknown part of her hadn't been so desperately uncomfortable with the situation.

"May I see that?" she said, holding out her hand.

Snape surrendered the bit of parchment. "I suppose you won't be satisfied any other way," he said.

Hermione scanned it quickly. Signed by Dumbledore – well, there wasn't any getting around that.

"Instead of searching my room, couldn't you just use a Summoning Charm?" Hermione said.

"Of course," Snape said. "If you want your memories all over your rug, that is."

Hermione returned the parchment, feeling mutinous. "Get on with it, then."

She had never been so humiliated in her life – at least, not any part of it she remembered. It was bad enough when Snape discovered Lavender and Parvati's cache of romance novels. ("Who would have thought," he sneered, ignoring all her protestations of innocence, "that Hermione Granger's biggest vice involved reading?") But when he reached her underwear drawer, Hermione leaped out of her chair.

"I refuse to let you search that drawer."

"Am I getting close?" Snape inquired, lowering his wand.

"That's my underwear drawer."

Hermione hadn't even thought Snape capable of blushing. You learn something new every day, she thought, surveying him with interest.

"I can't not search it," Snape growled. "Like as not, that's where it is."

Actually, she had reduced it and hidden it in the toe of one of her shoes. But the underwear drawer had been her first choice.

"Go ahead, then, if you have to," said Hermione, and watched his blush deepen.

"I am as little anxious to search it as you are to have me search it," Snape snapped. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"You could take my word for it."

"Not good enough."

"I could dump everything on the ground and show you the empty drawer."

Snape thought it over. "I suppose that'll have to do."

So she did. After Snape had been satisfied that the drawer was empty, Hermione gathered up its contents and retreated to her bed with them and the drawer.

"It's going to take an absolute age to get everything folded and put back," Hermione said.

"I don't want to hear about it," Snape snarled.

Brilliant wizard though he was supposed to be, it never once occurred to Snape to check the toes of her shoes, with the result that after another hour of searching, Snape was forced to give up.

"But I'll be back," he promised. "With a few things to make the job easier."

Hermione didn't like to think about what those might be: probably a Sneakoscope and a bottle of Veritaserum for backup. She could only hope he had decided to take her word about the contents of her underwear drawer.


	10. Scene 10

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 10**

Hermione returned from hall patrol to find her Pensieve, returned to its normal size, sitting on her desk. The surface of her thoughts was clear, and Hermione could see a scene from Potions class playing out in miniature, with real-time Snape standing off to the side with folded arms, looking on.

"Get out of there right now," said Hermione without knowing if Snape would be able to hear her.

But it seemed he could: he looked up at her and said, "Stand back." She did, and Snape re-entered the room.

"You weren't here when I looked in, so I thought I'd start the search on my own," Snape said. If he felt any remorse, Hermione was beyond caring.

"What right do you have to look through all my thoughts like that?"

"More right than anyone else," Snape said. He must have seen Hermione's confusion, because he added, "Do you really not remember the reason you needed a Pensieve?"

Hermione shook her head.

"You did a remarkably thorough job," Snape said. He was looking at Hermione in a way that made her sick with fear.

"What did you see in there?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Snape said. "It's quite embarrassing."

"I think you'd better tell me."

Snape paused. Then he said, "You seem to have developed a crush on me."

"I would never, in a million years… oh my God."

"I see you've remembered," Snape said dryly.

Had she thought Snape searching her room was humiliating? Maybe, Hermione thought, with a bit of luck I'll spontaneously combust and all they'll have to do is sweep up my ashes and explain to my parents.

"I should warn you, Miss Granger, that in all my time at Hogwarts I've never had to deal with this particular situation before." Snape actually looked uncomfortable. It had never occurred to Hermione that Snape, too, might be embarrassed by the situation.

She would still have traded any day.

"I can't imagine why not."

Snape looked sharply at her, as if trying to judge how sarcastic she was being, then said, "You'll have to forgive me if I'm handling this badly, but I thought you had more sense."

"So did I," Hermione said. "Why did you think I was so eager to blame it on a Love Potion? I didn't do it for laughs."

"I had credited you with better taste," Snape said dully. He held up a hand to stop Hermione from speaking. "No, I don't want to hear about misunderstanding and self-sacrifice and personal risk. As I've told you already, I am exactly as cruel and sarcastic and hateful as everyone thinks me."

"Will you at least not tell everyone what an idiot I am?"

Snape's face relaxed. "Good heavens, girl," he said. "Even I'm not that cruel."

"You told everyone about Professor Lupin."

"I haven't been feuding with you for twenty years."

There was a dense silence. Snape passed a hand over his eyes.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," he said. "But what was wrong with Weasley, or Potter, or even Krum, someone you might have had a remote chance of winning over with your blue silk robes and your Gryffindor wiles?"

"They aren't a challenge," Hermione said.

Snape snorted. "A challenge to your patience," he said. "And if you think I challenged you, you're absolutely right. I wanted you to show Slytherin that it takes something more than pure wizarding blood to succeed, and you did. I wanted you to prove that you were something more than an insufferable know-it-all, and you did. I wanted you to prove me wrong, and you did."

His hand went to the base of her skull. Hermione almost jumped.

"And I, unlike your so-called friends, know that there is something worthwhile under your abominable hair."

Hermione didn't need the contents of her sock drawer to tell her what was coming next. But Snape released her.

"And I don't want to be a part of it. I don't need your chemical dreams. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," Hermione said. She moved away from him and folded her arms.

"Listen to me," Snape said. "I'll have to tell Albus – I don't know what I'll tell Albus, but keep the Pensieve. Put today in it so you don't have to think about it. God knows I won't be reminding you about it. You'll never make it through the rest of the year with all that in your head."

"I'll never make it through the rest of the year like this either," Hermione said. "You saw what it's done to me. I can't go around forgetting homework and meetings and conversations, and I can't take N.E.W.T.'s like this either."

"It's your choice," Snape said. "Which do you think is going to make life more difficult?" He left through the fireplace.

Hermione went over to the Pensieve. Its surface was swirling. She added several memories to it, and when the last one had sunk in, she stood staring at the surface, trying to remember what she'd needed it for in the first place.

Whatever it was, it must have been traumatic.


	11. Scene 11

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 11**

Hermione walked around for the best part of a month in a haze. She couldn't remember why she'd stopped volunteering in Potions. She couldn't remember why she never wanted to drink pumpkin juice anymore. She couldn't remember why there were romance novels in her sock drawer, one Chocolate Frog left in the tin by her bed, or a Pensieve on the top shelf of her closet. She couldn't remember and, increasingly, she didn't care.

Professor Snape asked her to stay after class one day. Hermione couldn't understand why: her potion had been perfect and she hadn't said anything insufferably know-it-all. Or anything at all, for that matter. Her stomach jumped as she approached Snape's desk. She wished she knew why.

"I didn't mean to do it, sir."

"Do what?" Snape said.

"Whatever I did wrong," Hermione said. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it? I knew I should have added that extra drop of doxy venom."

"Miss Granger, kindly stop babbling." Snape leaned forward and said, "I have a confession to make. You were right."

Hermione had gotten accustomed lately to feeling confused, but this had the air of a situation with no ties to reality. "I don't understand, sir."

"When you told me you couldn't get through the rest of the year like this." He made a vague gesture, indicating presumably her mental state. "Even I can see you were right."

Hermione thought that reply raised more questions than it answered, and she was about to say so when Snape continued.

"Now, I want you to go back to your room and put whatever memories you find in your Pensieve back into your head."

Hermione started. How could Snape possibly have known about her Pensieve, much less its contents? "But sir "

"Just do as I say."

"I'm really confused," she admitted. "I feel like there's something huge I lost and now I want it back."

Hermione could not remember Snape ever looking like this. "You might find that you don't want it after all," he sighed. "Just do what I've told you, and remember what I said."

"I'll try," Hermione said.

"And – I am truly sorry."

Hermione didn't understand why, but she said, "It's really not that bad."

Snape gave a dry laugh. "You only say that because you don't remember. Now go."

Hermione went.

A/N: Here's the revised version of this chapter, which I hope clears things up a bit. Let me know me what you think, either by review or by e-mail (in my profile). Constructivecriticism is always welcome, but flames give me nightmares. And thanks for finishing the story.


	12. Scene 12

**Severely Deluded**

**Scene 12**

It took Hermione weeks to be able to pass him in the halls without blushing, but after that she made rapid progress. First she talked about him again in what she calculated to be a normal way. Then she began volunteering in Potions (though she made sure her contributions stopped short of insufferable). Finally, she made herself look him in the eye whenever the occasion arose, although technically she shouldn't have tried because no other student dared look him in the eye, and her unacknowledged goal was to be, at least in this respect, like every other student.

But that last, unnecessary challenge felt important to Hermione. She had nothing more to hide from him, so why dissemble? And knowing that Snape had apparently chosen not to make public the humiliating contents of her mind gave her the courage not to blink.

She was walking down one of the better-known staircases, a well-worn spiral, on a gorgeous morning in June when around the curve of the staircase appeared a familiar greasy head. As he climbed into view, she could see a thick roll of parchment in his hand.

"Hello, Professor," said Hermione. Her heart still accelerated and her hands still sweated, but there was nothing, short of a potion, that she could do about it.

"Miss Granger," he said. "I am supposed to ask you if you would like a copy of your Potions N.E.W.T."

"A copy? But I thought that a student could receive his or her original test paper—"

"Upon written request to the Authority of Magical Testing, yes." He almost smiled; at least, his voice was less forbidding than usual. "However, in your case the authority would like to keep the original, as it's the best paper they've seen in a century."

She decided it would be inappropriate to jump up and down for joy, and instead said, "In that case I would like a copy."

He did not congratulate her or ask her, as her other professors had, about her post-Hogwarts plans. Instead, after handing her the scroll, he said, "I didn't think you were capable of it. Once again you prove me wrong."

"You didn't think I was capable of the best Potions N.E.W.T. in a century?" she almost said, before she realized what he was talking about.

Luckily he seemed not to expect an answer; he turned and walked back down the staircase, the way he had come. (That, incidentally, was the last time she ever saw Severus Snape, except once long afterward, and then she didn't recognize him.)

Hermione continued to stand there, turning the sealed scroll over and over with a bemused expression on her face. She seemed prepared to stand there until the staircase crumbled beneath her, but after a while Harry came pelting down the stairs, the Marauder's Map fluttering in his hands.

"Hey, Hermione." He took in her expression and the scroll. "That what Snape wanted with you?"

Hermione blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

Harry tapped the map. "Snape came to give you that scroll?"

"Yes." But Hermione said nothing about its contents; they seemed to have nothing to do with what had just happened.

"He must not know what to do with himself when there's no students to torment. He could've just sent a house-elf with it and spared you his evil presence."

"Yes, I suppose he could have," Hermione said, inspecting the outside of the scroll.

"But I forgot, Hermione, you don't hate him like we do."

"No," she said, "I can't say I hate him."

THE END

A/N: It seems I need to explain myself. Please do not think that I've been making you wait for an update out of the sheer sadistic joy of it. I have been struggling with the decisions to write and post this chapter. I'll tell you why, and then you can decide if my reasons are good or not. I originally intended to end this story with chapter 11, because I enjoy speculating about what happens to characters after the story ends, and I forget that not everyone does. Also, because of what I suspected would happen next, I knew that any continuation would necessarily be different in tone and content, and I didn't think I could tell it to you in an appropriately snarky way. (I still don't.) I've done the best I could to make this chapter match the rest, but aside from the difference in content, I wrote most of this story in June 2004 (it underwent major revisions in December, just before I posted it), and much has happened since then, mainly my transition to the real world. I left the ending intact until the recent flood of reviews convinced me to continue, if only because in the world of fanfic, the majority is always right. I am astonished and grateful that you apparently like the story enough to request more. I'm fond of it myself, but as I said, not everyone shares my taste. So thank you for your patience, and if this isn't how you wanted it to end, I apologize (and give you permission to imagine it however you like), but I feel obligated to write fiction according to the way I perceive things to be, rather than the way I want them to be.


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